It Began With You
by campingwiththecharmings
Summary: A collection of my Captain Swan one-shots, ficlets and/or Tumblr prompts (ratings and genres may vary).


_Prompt: hi! idk if you take prompts but here's one if you do: au where captain swan meet at a wedding that neither of them wants to be at. thanks!_

**AN:** Okay so I have a feeling you wanted a modern AU since that's all I've written thus far lol and I almost wrote one but then I decided I'd challenge myself a bit and went in the complete opposite direction. I hope this is okay!

(PSA: Anything I know about royal weddings/receptions is from movies and tv shows so please forgive any inaccuracies).

**Rated:** C for Cheesy (and an F for some mild Fluff)  
><strong>Words:<strong> 3200+

(Un-beta'ed)

* * *

><p>Sometimes she really hates being a princess.<p>

Sure, the life had its perks; enormous castle, sparkling jewels and luxurious clothing, a safe place to rest her head every night, and at _least_ three square meals a day. She knows she should be thankful for being born to such privilege, and most of the time she is, but today is one of those days where she's lost her perspective. She understands what's expected of her as a princess, knows that at twenty-three years old she should've been married off ages ago (or at the very _least_ engaged) and yet she's turned down (or driven away) every suitor her parents have thrown at her.

What can she say? She's picky (though, she _is_ a princess, why should she settle for just _anyone_?).

She's had this discussion with her parents numerous times, has explained that she wants what _they_ have (True Love, and all that). But after years of scouring the kingdoms for a suitable match, they appear to be getting desperate.

Emma fights back the urge to wince as her current dance partner, Prince John, steps on her toes for the fourth time in the last five minutes. She forces a smile as he fails to notice his blunder, continuing to drone on and on about some new trade agreement his kingdom has just signed with another.

Pain and misery aside, she's down right livid. She cannot believe her parents thought it appropriate to find her a suitor at her best friend's _wedding_ of all places. She and Princess Aurora had more or less grown up together; their mothers had been close friends in their youth and, as a result, their families naturally ended up being close as well. So when the news of Aurora's engagement had reached her, she hadn't hesitated to make certain that she could attend.

Had she known what her parents had been planning for the celebration that followed, she might have given it a bit more thought.

Her eyes search the room frantically as she looks for any excuse to escape this menace of a prince (if only for a few minutes), grumbling internally when a suitable opportunity does not present itself. Resigning herself to a dull evening (complete with tedious conversation and foot trampling), she returns her attention back to the prince and tries not to roll her eyes when she notices he's _still_ talking about that trade agreement.

* * *

><p>He's been stuck standing in the same spot for hours trying to remember what prompted him to agree to such a position.<p>

He really does love his kingdom. It's the reason why, as a member of the royal navy, he risks his life to defend it on a daily basis. He understands that guarding the royal family and their guests is an important job and he's proud to do it but.

He's _bored_.

Lieutenant Killian Jones had more or less been raised aboard a ship. He'd spent his nights being lulled to sleep by the rocking of the waves, spent his days on deck in the hot sun with the salty spray of the sea cooling his heated skin.

That is, until he'd been injured.

Their ship had been attacked and boarded by Maleficent's forces. The sorceress has been trying to destroy their kingdom for years because of some odd obsession she has with their princess (he thinks, perhaps, that there is more to the story than that, but he only knows what he's been told). He'd been fighting with one of her army's commanders alongside his brother (and captain). The man was particularly vicious (as most of the witch's higher ups tended to be) and would've gutted his brother were it not for him.

Of course, _he'd_ almost been gutted instead, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it could've been; all that had mattered to Killian at the time was that his brother was alive and well.

He still thinks Liam overreacted, still thinks he would've healed just _fine_ onboard their ship, that he hadn't really _needed_ to stay behind.

Yet here he was.

He'd been a month into his recovery when his captain had come to him. "We're being sent off on another mission, brother," he'd told him, "On the _King's_ orders." That's when he'd told him they needed to leave immediately and that Killian would have to stay behind. Killian had, of _course_, been furious but Liam was his captain; he'd had no choice but to heed his orders.

That had been months ago. He was more or less fully healed now and his brother was still off doing God knows what on that special mission of his.

The castle had been a flurry of excitement when he'd come to the infirmary to have his bandages changed the week before. _The Princess's wedding_, he'd reminded himself. The head of the royal guard must've heard he'd be stopping by as he'd stormed in and practically demanded to have a word with him.

Turned out that some of his men had been sent to aid one of their allies. When he'd asked Killian to assist him in securing the castle during the wedding, he'd agreed immediately (he _was_ a servant to the crown, after all).

Little had he known that 'securing the castle' actually meant 'standing in the same place for an entire evening.' Killian knew deep down that it wasn't really about the lack of action, but rather his separation from the sea (and his brother). He hadn't been trapped on land for this long since his youth and it was beginning to negatively affect his mood. He knew that it was childish, that he was a member of the royal navy and moping around during the celebration of the wedding of his kingdom's Princess was, as his brother would say, _bad form_. If Liam were here, he'd be extremely disappointed in him.

He watches the guests dance from his position beside the High Table where the Princess and her new bride (General Fa Mulan) sit. He recognizes most of the faces he sees whirling by, many of them belonging to members of the royal court. A particular face catches his eye, however, a face belonging to a girl (_woman_) he's not seen since before he joined the navy.

She is a vision; golden hair intricately woven and piled neatly onto her head, beautiful fair skin that appears to glow, emerald-colored eyes that shine. She is dressed in a simple red gown, floating gracefully about the room with her partner.

Princess Emma, Princess Aurora's childhood friend.

She's far lovelier than he remembers.

He mentally kicks himself for not realizing that she would be here for this. Sure, she doesn't visit their kingdom as often as she had in her youth, but Princess Aurora was still her dearest friend. Killian wonders briefly if she's thought of him as often as he's thought of her these past years (and then promptly throws the thought away because she's a _princess_ and he is nothing to her).

Still, a part of him hopes (bloody sap that he is).

He watches as she suddenly stumbles, her partner (who he know recognizes as a prince from a neighboring kingdom) halting momentarily as she grimaces a smile and holds a hand up as if to tell him everything is fine. They resume their waltz a moment later and Killian notes that she's no longer trying to hold back her displeasure at her current situation.

He knows how she feels.

* * *

><p>Emma is two seconds away from feigning an illness just to get away from Prince John. It boggles her mind that he obviously feels that their encounter is going well, especially since she has barely said a word the entire time (though, perhaps he just prefers his princesses silent). What about this man had made her parents think they'd be compatible?<p>

As she continues to mentally grumble to herself and struggles to keep her face impassive. Her gaze is drawn to where the newlyweds sit at the High Table, laughing and drinking. She smiles at their noticeable happiness, an ache of longing settling in her chest. As the product of True Love, she naturally hopes to find such a thing one day herself.

She's been quite unlucky in that department, however, as of late.

She winces once more as Prince John crushes her toes yet again (wondering briefly if he perhaps has something against her shoes as he seems so intent on ruining them).

A plan begins to form in her mind when her eyes again fall on the couple at the High Table. She smiles for the first time in roughly two hours, an end to this abysmal exchange _finally_ within her grasp. John is in the middle of telling her about his new carriage ("It's crafted from the _finest_ pine in all the realms") when she decides she's heard enough.

"Prince John," she interrupts, despite the fact that she's been explicitly taught all her life _not_ to do such things, "Would you excuse me for a moment? I simply must go and offer my congratulations to the happy couple."

John sputters at the disruption, mouthing wordlessly as Emma's smile widens. "Wonderful. Perhaps we'll continue this later," she suggests, nodding quickly in thanks and limping as gracefully as possible away from the dancing masses.

Emma breathes a quiet sigh of relief as she walks, the distance between her and the prince already causing her to feel lighter.

* * *

><p>A drunken moron pulls him from his post three hours in. He's annoyed, yes, but at least he had something to <em>do<em> for ten minutes. He relieves that guard who covered for him as he returns, nodding in thanks as he walks away. Killian sighs and scans the room to see what (if anything) has changed in his absence.

A flicker of delight rushes through him when his gaze falls upon Princess Emma's former dancer partner sulking petulantly by one of the banquet tables. He allows himself a small smile at the feeling and continues his perusal of the crowd. The newly married Princess Ella and Prince Thomas have joined in the festivities; he hadn't realized they had returned from their honeymoon in time for this. Lady Bell and Lady Lucas are giggling madly about something at the far end of the High Table, pointing out at the dancers every now and then.

He starts when his survey leads him to where Princess Emma has ended up; she's conversing with Princess Aurora and General Mulan at the center of the long High Table. The three ladies laugh raucously after a moment, holding up goblets of wine and clinking them in celebration. Killian pulls his eyes from the scene, feeling as though he's intruding on a private moment. He spends the next several minutes willing himself not to look in their direction again (he usually has better self-control than this, what is _wrong _with him). He caves not long after, glancing discreetly at the center of the table from the corner of his eye.

Princess Aurora is embracing the blonde from her place behind the table. The two pull back after a moment and speak briefly, before all three ladies exchange smiles and parting waves. Princess Emma begins to walk away, heading away from him, until her eyes fall on the banquet table. She halts and quickly ducks behind a column before she's spotted. Killian laughs quietly to himself at the display. Who knew royals could be so amusing?

She leans against the column for several minutes, acting as though she'd been intending to stand there all along. She swipes another goblet of wine from a server passing by with a tray and casually peeks around the pillar.

"Excuse me, guard," a voice suddenly interrupts.

Killian's head quickly swivels toward the voice to find a short nobleman wearing a sash before him.

"How may I assist you, Your Grace?" Killian asks respectfully, wracking his brain as he tries to figure out where he's seen the crest on the sash before.

"That _man_ over there," he says haughtily, pointing at the far end of the hall, "He's stolen something of mine. I demand you make him return it at once."

Killian observes the man in question, noting he looks just as respectable as anyone else in the room. "Are you certain it was him, Your Grace?"

The nobleman flushes red with anger at the question. "_Of course_."

Killian licks his lips nervously and scans the room for the head of the guard. "Very well, please, follow me," he instructs, walking over to one of the other castle guards.

Another twenty minutes have passed before he finds the head of the guard and explains the situation, handing the nobleman (who he is later told is the Duke of Weselton) off and returning to his place by the High Table. Princess Emma has disappeared, no longer at the pillar he'd last seen her at. His gaze travels back over to the banquet tables out of curiosity and finds that her former dance partner is also gone.

Disappointment flickers briefly in his chest as wonders if the princess has indeed left the castle. He had hoped their paths might cross, had hoped that perhaps she might recognize him from one of her many summers spent here (especially the one where she'd sliced open his cheek during fencing practice).

It was foolish, he knew, but the hope was there nonetheless.

He's shaken from his thoughts a moment later by a hissing sound. He furrows his brow and searches the surrounding area for the source of the noise.

"_Psst, guard_," he hears, finally realizing that it's apparently a person and _not_ some kind of reptile.

His eyes widen somewhat as a blonde head peeks out from behind the column to his left a moment later.

Well, he supposes that answers at least _one_ of his questions.

Princess Emma appears to be waving him over now. To be sure she is not attempting to get someone else's attention, Killian takes a quick look around him before casually ambling in her direction.

"Is there something I can assist you with, Your Highness?" he asks when he's closer, his tone quiet but respectful.

"_Prince John_," she whispers, biting her lip and flicking her eyes around.

Killian's brow furrows in confusion when she doesn't elaborate and rests his hand on the belt holding his sword. "I beg your pardon?"

"_Prince. John. Do you see him_?" she whispers again, inching a bit more from behind the column.

Ah, she's asking whether her former companion was still here. He nods to her to say that he understands and turns back toward the room to scan it.

"I do not, Your Highness," he says, returning his attention to her. "Is…everything all right?"

She stops frantically searching the room at the uncertainty in his tone, her eyes rising to meet his. "Oh, yes, everything's fine. Thank you," she says, smiling thinly.

Killian gets the impression that she's not being entirely truthful, but who is he to question her? He nods after a moment of silence and moves to walk away, assuming she is no longer in need of his assistance.

"Wait," she says abruptly, her tone curious.

He halts his gait and turns back toward her. "Yes, Your Highness?"

"Have we….met before?" she asks, her brow crinkled in thought as she studied him.

Killian swallowed nervously and scratched behind his ear as he considered his answer. "I suppose it's possible," he replies simply, not wishing to make her feel any guilt over not remembering him (because she _would_, kind person that she is).

"How long have you been a guard here?" she asks, her eyes roving his face in search of some familiar tell that will remind her.

"I'm actually not a member of the guard, Your Highness. I'm a lieutenant in the royal navy," he responds, pride swelling inside him at the reminder.

She studies his face as he stands there awkwardly in silence, coughing in an effort to break the tension a moment later.

"Jones," she says softly, her eyes lighting with recognition as she smiled once more. "Killian Jones. You were in the fencing class I took with Sir Lancelot."

Killian huffed a laugh and averted his gaze to the floor. "I was indeed, Your Highness."

"Please, call me Emma," she asks, laughter lacing her voice as she lays a hand on his forearm to reclaim his attention.

"I couldn't possibly—"

"_Please_. I stabbed you in the face with my sword, I think we're well past the formalities," she laughs, her green eyes flicking to the scar on his cheek.

He flushes and rakes a hand through his hair before meeting her gaze once more. "I'd classify it as more of a nick than a stab," he joked, his heart swelling in his chest (sap, sap, _sap_).

She snorts out a laugh, blushing slightly at her unladylike response. "If you say so."

Killian smiles widely at her, secretly thrilled to have induced such a reaction. "It's lovely to see you again...Emma," he says earnestly, his tone quiet as he adds on her by her given name.

Emma smiles and nods in agreement. "You too, Killian."

They stare at each other silently for a brief moment before she shakes her head and wets her lips.

"So, if you're a lieutenant in the royal navy, what are you doing _here_? Do you just enjoy wearing the royal guard uniform?"

"Ah," Killian starts, his hand cupping the back of his neck, "It's a long, boring story."

"I doubt that," she says, something that looks suspiciously like mischief shining in her eyes. "I have an idea, why don't we catch up over a dance."

He sucks in a breath at her suggestion, the mere idea of holding her close far more appealing than he's willing to admit. But he's here to do a job, not dance with princesses (even one specific princess he fears he's been in love with since the day she nicked his cheek).

"I would be honored, Princess. However, I'm afraid it would be frowned upon by my superiors."

Emma scoffs at his excuse and saunters closer to him, invading his personal space. "I'm a personal guest of the crowned princess, not to mention a princess in my own right; no one is going to dare to tell me who I can and can't dance with."

Killian is so caught off guard by her insistence, he is silent for longer than is probably proper. He watches wordlessly as some of the fire leaves her eyes and she takes a step away from him, flicking her eyes toward the ground as if suddenly shy.

"Unless you do not wish to spend time in my company," she adds quietly, understanding lacing her tone, "Which I promise to not hold against you."

His heart plummets to his feet at the sadness in her voice, his brain screaming for him to _talk to her, you daft idiot_.

"I'd spend all the time you'd allow me in your company, my lady," he says softly, his tone earnest.

She lifts her head to meet his eyes as a smile stretches slowly across her face. "Good," she says simply, reaching down to grab his hand and leading him onto to the dance floor.


End file.
